rotate around the bench. “I don’t recall any more, master, and I fear that I really must lie down and rest now.”
John patted his servant’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Peter, I should not have pressed you so.”
But Peter was unable to reply. A dark fog gathered at the edge of his vision and suddenly he was falling forward into a pit as deep and black as Sarcerdus Rufus’ former sins.
Chapter Twenty-eight
It was yet another dawn arrival. John and Peter had entered the city lounging casually in the back of a farmer’s cart. If anyone had been assigned to watch against the exiled Lord Chamberlain’s return, he must have been asleep at his post for the two men were soon slipping unmolested across the cobbled square between the barracks and John’s house.
Although the house might not have been watched from outside it was certainly well guarded within. Darius, sworn to protect Isis’ door wherever that door might be, answered John’s summoning rap promptly.
“By Zurvan’s beard! What are you doing back here? And Peter, why are you wearing such fine clothes?” Darius shut and barred the door after quickly scanning the empty square. “What a night this has been, Lord Chamberlain,” he went on. “I was afraid your knock meant another sobbing woman seeking sanctuary!”
John gave him a questioning look. “You’ve been visited by sobbing women?”
“Well, only one, but that’s enough for me,” was the reply. “But more importantly, won’t Justinian have your head removed if he learns you’re back?”
“Perhaps not, after he’s heard all we have learned,” John said, hurrying up the stairs.
As he entered the kitchen he immediately recognized the woman whose pale patrician face was surrounded by greasy black ringlets.
“Lucretia! I am honored,” he said.
She sat sobbing quietly, ignoring Isis, who was pouring wine out for her. Peter hobbled in and although he said nothing John could read his servant’s horrified expression perfectly. His master’s wine being freely imbibed by two women, neither of them a relative, and the sun was barely risen. The scandal of it, the wagging tongues! Thank heavens nobody outside the house would hear of it.
“Master,” Peter said loudly, valiantly grabbing the wine jug and his master’s honor from Isis’ grasp, “perhaps some refreshment?”
The spectacle of a sumptuously robed servant waiting upon a Lord Chamberlain who was supposed to have fled at least as far as Cappadocia by now reduced Lucretia’s weeping to sniffles. She rose and embraced John. He rested his face on the top of her head for a few heartbeats before gently disengaging her arms and turning away, seemingly unconcerned by the astounded expressions blooming on Isis’ and Peter’s faces.
“Peter, take some wine yourself,” John instructed, warming his hands at the cheerily glowing brazier. He looked over his shoulder, cutting off his servant’s protests. “To keep up your strength, as a soldier always should.”
Darius’ bulk loomed into the room. Seeing it crowded, he leaned against the door post, his muscular arms folded.
“How is Felix?” John asked Isis, who had recovered her equilibrium. After years in her profession, few things threw her off stride for long.
“He is recuperating nicely, thanks to Hypatia’s ministrations. Her herbal knowledge is most impressive. She’s been quite busy since you left, chopping and measuring and cooking her potions.” She pointed toward the row of fragrant pots set along the base of the kitchen wall, mute confirmation of her words. “Your house is a positive hive of activity, more so than mine ever was, I do declare. But why are you here? None of us expected to see you so soon again, if indeed at all.”
“I will explain later.” John laid his hand gently on Lucretia’s arm. “Your husband Balbinus is searching for you, Lucretia,” he said quietly. “Why have you come here?”
“I came here because I was unable to see Anatolius. The house slaves would not allow me to enter and they refused to take a message to him. I suppose they thought I was some common woman, trying to cause trouble.” She dabbed at her eyes. Her hands were red and rough, the nails broken.
John glanced at Isis.
“No, she just arrived. She doesn’t know,” the woman muttered. Lucretia looked alarmed as Isis took her hand. “My dear, your friend is under arrest, accused of murder,” she said as gently as she could.
Lucretia gave a choking gasp and sat down abruptly.
Hypatia squeezed past Darius, who was still leaning on the door post. She might well have been standing in the hall listening to their conversation for some time, because she did not question John’s surprising reappearance. Instead she knelt by her pots, stirring them one by one.
“There is almost always a man behind a woman’s sorrow,” she announced to the room at large. “Or if not a man, then men.”
“How true, how true indeed,” Isis said with a sigh.
Lucretia looked haggard, much older than the last time John had seen her. That had been on the occasion of her wedding, a marriage that had broken Anatolius’ heart, or so Anatolius had claimed not long afterwards.
Lucretia mentioned the name almost before John had completed his recollection of the event.
“Lord Chamberlain,” she said, “I had planned to give certain information to Anatolius. I felt I could trust him to see that the right people received it.” She reddened slightly at this admission of that old relationship. “But since I cannot and I am among friends, I will tell you. You were at the shrine to meet with Michael. I observed you there and hid, in case you saw me and told my husband where I was. Forgive me for that.”
John said there was no need to ask for forgiveness.
Lucretia thanked him and then went on. “You were there but a short time and therefore did not hear what I did. I went to the shrine because of Michael’s words. How could I not be attracted by one who seeks to exalt the vessel of our humanity, used and mistreated as I have been?”
Isis gave a slight sniff of disapproval. “I appreciate your distress, child, but there are plenty who wouldn’t feel too used at being matched with a prosperous senator.”
Lucretia ignored her comment. “But what I heard and saw as I helped tend the sick and wounded disturbed me greatly. Michael’s followers occasionally spoke of matters that did not seem entirely appropriate for men of peace.”
“Certainly some do carry weapons,” Peter put in. “We’ve seen that ourselves.”
“And I have seen the results of the wielding of those weapons,” Lucretia said. “But more than that, I overheard some discussing how the city would soon be at their feet and the price they would exact upon it. That did not sound much like the talk of pilgrims to me. But then came mention of supernatural weaponry.”
John glanced over at her with keen interest. “Go on.”
Lucretia shrugged hopelessly. “They realized I was listening and moved away. Then I recalled one of the excubitors had advised me to leave for my own safety and thinking that it was now time to take that advice, I departed. If only he could have taken his own counsel. As I crept out, he was being carried to his grave by two of his comrades at arms.”
John offered a silent prayer that Mithra would accept and reward the unknown soldier who had succumbed to wounds gained by carrying out his duty.
“But,” Lucretia went on, determined, it seemed, to drain the pool of bitterness festering within her, “I do believe that aid is coming from an unexpected quarter, John. For soon the holy man, if he is indeed a holy man, will also be taking his last journey.”
“I don’t believe that he’s in danger from Justinian mounting another attack,” John assured her. “If Michael is caught he will surely die, but it will be in a far subtler way than by being put to the sword.”
“As far as Michael is concerned,” Hypatia put in, “I have a suspicion that Justinian cannot bribe him as he can the Persians, if you’ll excuse my saying so, Darius.”
Darius grunted agreement from the doorway. “I only wish Khosrow would pass some of Justinian’s tribute money along to my family. Then they could live like, well, like Khosrow!”
Lucretia spoke again. “Justinian will not need to purchase peace. As I said, Michael is not long for this world.
